Since he began eliminating the infected, Alan noticed that there were far more of them in the building than he had initially thought. The good part of all of this was that they were all dead; the bad part was that there were many infected on the lower floors.
Although Alan had blocked the stairs with numerous pieces of furniture, this wouldn't hold them off for long.
After clearing the last apartment near the rooftop, Alan found several weapons, which were now packed into a suitcase, ready to be moved if things here became uncontrollable.
Ammunition was also important—he had used a lot of it, and thanks to that, he hadn't been injured. Everything he knew about the infected helped him prepare better and clean the more dangerous areas faster.
For the past few days, Alan had been in contact with a military group, which was guarding a shelter. He didn't want to meet them, nor did he want to release them, because the reality was much more complex than Alan could accept at the moment.
He knew what the military had been doing in the early days. The way they had approached the spread was anything but adequate.
Killing civilians left and right was a clear sign that they were destroying themselves. There were areas where the military had deserted, others held out, and those who remained were still fighting to contain the outbreaks.
Half an hour later, after removing the bodies of the infected, Alan carefully checked each apartment.
The sealed food was being used, but anything that was partially opened was immediately discarded.
However, what he found later reminded him of the years he spent fishing with his father. Numerous fishing tools were found in an apartment, and the owner could not be seen anywhere.
For a week and a half, Alan hadn't seen a single living person.
It was just him and the infected, alone in this county. Although his homebody nature had accustomed him to solitude, at that moment, he wished there was someone to talk to.
He had killed a total of thirty infected in this building.
Having been alone for so long, Alan wondered if he was doing things right.
He was just trying to survive, but he knew he could do much more than that. He wasn't pushing himself to save people like he used to, but if he went back to being military, he feared he would lose himself again.
After so much time in combat, Alan discovered that he had become desensitized to death. He had used his men as killing machines, and as a result, two people had died, innocent lives were lost, and four young children were left orphaned.
He had received medals for it, but his conscience started eating away at him when he was attacked by the victims' families.
Alan feared that the insensitive captain he had been would return and do whatever it took to survive. Not for himself, no—he would do anything to ensure the survival of the minority.
If he had to send ten soldiers to die so that nine could survive, he would do it if it meant victory. That was the kind of man Alan had become.
But now, with resources and a safe place where he could spend a few more weeks planning, Alan made a decision.
"For my brother..." Alan, taking a deep breath, turned on the radio. He dialed it to pick up an open frequency, and with a calm but firm voice, he began to speak:
"To whoever hears this... My name is Alan Rogers... I am not a leader, nor a hero. I am just someone who is still alive... and who has made mistakes that I cannot forget. I am located in the 'Mirador Este' residential building, about six blocks from the old central hospital in the suburbs of Austin. There are weapons, supplies, and, more importantly: a willingness to help."
Alan paused briefly, then continued humbly: "I do not promise a safe future, but I do offer temporary shelter. No matter who you are or what you've done... If you hear this and need help, this place can be your home for now. I haven't been part of the military for months and I no longer answer to anyone. I just want to try to do what's right... At least one more time, like my brother did until his death."
After releasing the transmit button, he left the radio on loop, repeating his message every fifteen minutes. Then he sat by the edge of the balcony, looking at the night sky as he waited… Maybe for a sign, or for someone to respond.
But no matter how long it took, no one answered.
Yes, although Alan wanted to do things differently from his brother, who stayed in the military, by stating that he no longer belonged to the military, he left a sense of fear in people.
Maybe they no longer trusted the military...
Not thinking too much about it, he decided to sleep. Tomorrow would be another day, perhaps one better than today.
…
The next day, as Alan climbed to the rooftop, he felt something was wrong.
Standing on the tall water storage tank, he, who had only recently wanted to stay hidden, saw the scene from a distance with his own eyes.
Many of the buildings all around were still smoking and burning, while the road in the distance was filled with burned-out cars, some deformed, others overturned. And the infected below moved slowly in groups in this dead city.
The sound of a car in the distance came clearly from Alan's direction, but there was only one sound, and occasionally, collision sounds could be heard.
There wasn't a large army like Alan had imagined, no powerful tanks, nothing. Nothing at all. Just the sound of a car.
"Did they hear my message?" Alan wondered with doubt. He knew these must be survivors like him, preparing to escape the city.
Indeed, a car appeared in the distance on the road.
The car wasn't driving on the road, but on the sidewalk. Sometimes it hit abandoned vehicles and collided with them one by one. This was the source of the collision sound Alan had heard.
Alan didn't shout. He knew that even if the people in the car saw him, they wouldn't be able to reach him with all that noise.
Once the noise settled, he realized that many infected had gathered below, following the sound that had just been made. This time, he didn't dare to make any noise and just silently watched the car in the distance. At that moment, he hoped to see them escape.
As someone trying to survive, Alan could do nothing for them now.
The only thing he could do was silently wish the people in the car good luck. In these end-of-world days, he hoped everyone could survive.
Slowly, the car overcame the obstacles, crossed the road closest to Alan, and moved away, swaying in the distance. Alan silently watched until the car was no longer visible, and the whole city fell back into silence.
"Looks like they escaped…"